


If You Can't Stand The Heat...

by m0usielous1e



Series: Easy Domesticity [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0usielous1e/pseuds/m0usielous1e
Summary: 'Daryl deposited the day’s catch, already skinned, cleaned and cut up, in the sink and announced, “Dinner.”'





	If You Can't Stand The Heat...

Paul did not consider himself a picky eater. Who could be in this terrible new world where what was left of humanity once again found itself one bad crop away from starvation? Fortunately for him, and for Hilltop and any community Daryl happened to find himself, there was plenty of food to be found if one was good enough at hunting or trapping. Unfortunately for Paul, and he hated to think of it, some of what Daryl had eaten or was willing to, was seriously taxing his cooking skills.

Daryl deposited the day’s catch, already skinned, cleaned and cut up, in the sink and announced, “Dinner.”

Paul looked up from his place on the couch and, apprehension curling in his gut, asked, “What is it?”

Daryl, on his way to the bath, already stripping his dirty clothing, called over his shoulder, “Skunk.”

Paul dropped the book in his hands and nearly fell off the couch. Thankfully, Daryl had just closed the door behind him. Paul scrambled to his feet and hurried over to the sink. Daryl had put the meat to soak in salty water, if the whiff Paul took meant anything, and there were bits of celery and onions floating around too. This was supposed to be skunk?

The shower turned on in the bath. They had not really established a formal rule or anything, and Daryl usually cooked his kills, but Paul had wanted to tonight and now he was at a loss. Since they got together, Daryl had fed Paul everything from deer, to, on one wild night, mice that he had caught in the fields and fried. Daryl had told Paul about eating worms and dog meat on the road to Alexandria, and that one week in his childhood when he had survived on wild berries and flowers. Paul, who had made his way to Barrington mere months after the Turn, had had a very different experience at the end of the world. But to eat a skunk?

He looked around the trailer at his book stacks. Over the years he had accumulated quite a number of recipe books, including magazine clippings with absolutely bizarre recipes from the mid-twentieth century. He had read them all and was pretty sure he had never come across a recipe for skunk. Come to think of it, he had only thought that was a joke about rednecks. And now it appeared, courtesy his own redneck, it was true?

The bathroom door opened and Daryl walked out in a towel, hair dripping, and headed for the closet to get a change of clothes. Paul tried not to get distracted by the water coursing down his boyfriend’s back from his wet hair. Then Daryl said, “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll do it.”

Right, the skunk. Paul looked down at it again and said, “I want to do it. You brought home the food, I’m going to cook it.”

“You have no idea how,” said Daryl.

Paul wondered if this was a hill he wanted to die on, and said, “I’ll have you know that I worked for quite a number of restaurants after I got out of the group home. I can make a mean General Tso or chicken parmesan or street burger. You want a taco?”

“That’s none of them things,” said Daryl, turning to him. He let the towel drop as he put on his pants, no longer worried about letting Paul see all of him, and continued, “There’s a reason I’m soaking it. This isn’t meat you can just mess with.”

Paul folded his arms and asked, “Have I ever served you something terrible before?”

Daryl did not reply and Paul grinned at him. “Then shut it.”

Daryl arched an eyebrow, dropping onto the bed to pull on his socks. Paul stuck out his tongue and said, “You’re going to love this. I’m going to surprise you. You’re going to be so pleasantly surprised you’re going to beg to suck my dick. I’m going to tell you no though, and then jerk off in front of you just to let you know what you’re missing.”

Daryl’s eyes went wide, cheeks flushing dark red, and he stammered, “S-stop that. Someone could hear you.”

“Pshaw!” Paul scoffed, going through the cupboards to find the potatoes. “Probably, later, when I’ve got you bent over that table begging me to cum all over your ass like a whore.”

“Paul!” Daryl hissed, Paul could almost hear the embarrassment. 

Paul laughed, and feeling bold, added, “Or maybe I will let you blow me while jerking yourself off at the same time, but you’re not allowed to finish, not until I want you to.”

Daryl stood up, face crimson, and growled, “I hope you can back up all that mouth you been running.”

Paul winked at him, twisted his hair into a knot atop his head, rolled up his sleeves, pulled out the first cookbook he could find and decided on a braise. The last time they had been to a barbecue it was at Alexandria before they were together. Paul could barely remember how the food tasted, since he allowed it to go cold while he was trying to chat up Daryl and could not stop a moment to get a proper bite. 

It took a few hours, during which time Daryl went out for some stale beer from the main house, and Jesus cut his finger chopping up veggies. When Daryl lifted an eyebrow, he said, “Somebody cut my finger. Not me.” Daryl rolled his eyes and Paul started running his mouth again. He couldn’t help it, especially after his second beer. Daryl did not stop him this time, but by his fourth beer started nodding along, smirking. This annoyed Paul, because it was clear his boyfriend was doubting his culinary skills. The sauce for the skunk didn’t taste too bad and the smell coming from the oven was heavenly. 

When he looked up from checking the oven, it was the find Daryl checking out his ass. He winked at him and said, “Look at you, you haven’t even tasted anything yet and you’re ready to eat.”

“Man, shut the hell up. I’m starving,” said Daryl.

Paul laughed again and replied, “Almost there. A few more minutes won’t hurt. What, so greedy for me baby?”

Daryl just took another swig of beer.

Paul set the table while the meat took the last few minutes of heat, put the potatoes, veggies and beer on the table with some ice. Daryl offered to help but Paul waved him away. Daryl smirked again and sat down at the table. Paul went back to the oven, slowly put on his mitts and took out the skunk. It was sizzling nicely, still smelled okay, or at least, the sauce did. He set it down in the middle of the table, took off his mitts, went over to Daryl, got a handful of his hair, pulled his head back and dove in for the most lascivious French kiss, swirling his tongue around in lazy strokes. Daryl’s hand tightened in the back of his tshirt and Paul pulled free, smirking now that Daryl couldn’t, and said, “Bon appetit!”

Daryl laughed and fixed himself a plate. Paul didn’t bother, he wanted to see Daryl’s reaction first. Daryl shook his head and, fork raised to his mouth, asked, “Did you taste this?”

Paul scoffed and said, “What kind of chef doesn’t? It’s a little salty but that’s thanks to your brine soak.”

“You should be thanking me for that. You don’t know skunk,” said Daryl, and he took a bite.

There was a pause, where Daryl sat chewing and Paul watched him, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat had picked up and the urge to fidget or just say something, and then his boyfriend said, “It’s okay.”

Paul stared at him for a few beats as Daryl continued to eat, and then, blinking furiously, asked, “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I can eat it,” said Daryl without looking up. He took a large gulp of beer, swallowed, and reached for another bite. Paul pulled the plate away. “Hey!”

Paul was “What do you mean ‘okay’? I know I’ve never cooked skunk before but this is better than okay. You had this same braise a few weeks ago and couldn’t get enough of it. You even recommended it to the cooks at the house. I was hounded for days until I ‘offered’ to give them the recipe, and you call this ‘okay’?”

“Yeah,” said Daryl, reaching for his plate.

Paul pulled it out of his reach again, then the fork from his hand and took a bite. It was not bad, not at first. The flavour of the sauce was perfect, as usual, and the meat was well cooked. The problem was the taste. It was so bitter that Paul’s face twisted on principle, then he turned and spat it out into a napkin. “Oh shit, how the hell were you eating that?”

Daryl shrugged, “You made it.”

“Oh shit,” said Paul again, wiping his tongue with another napkin. “You can’t eat this. Oh my god, that’s bad. How…how the hell are you eating this?”

Daryl sat back, wiped his mouth and smirking, said, “So, what was all that talk I was hearing earlier?”

Paul glanced at him, noted the smirk, and stood up. “You know what? Let me get the fish. I think we have some from Oceanside.” He took up Daryl’s plate and headed for the sink. “We’re lucky that we’re on friendly terms with Oceanside now. Fish is a wonderful source of protein, and much healthier than a lot of the other meat we’ve got around here.”

He felt Daryl’s body heat at his back before the arms came down to trap him at the sink. Paul snapped his mouth shut. Daryl pressed his head to the back of his neck and said, “I’m pretty sure I was told I was going to beg for it. You made a lot of promises.”

Paul swallowed and said, “You know me. I talk a lot of shit.”

Daryl moved his forehead up and away before pressing a soft kiss behind Paul’s ear, and whispered, “I’m still hungry, but lucky for you, I can save the skunk.”

“It’s very bitter, and salty, Daryl. You shouldn’t eat it. I’ll make us something else,” said Paul, turning in Daryl’s arms to look at him.

Daryl’s hands went to Paul’s belt, and he laughed when he felt the younger man’s stomach retract. Paul couldn’t help it. Every time Daryl made a move, it set his nerves on fire. But Daryl merely unbuckled his belt, pulled it out of the loops and said, “I think it’s time you put that mouth to use. You promised a show, entertain me while I cook.”

Paul knew defeat when he saw it. He sighed and asked, “Where do you want me?”

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to add a line from Tom's Insta post. It was too perfect.
> 
> Also, I found a real skunk recipe and can't quite believe it...then again, I come from a country where eating "wild meat" is a popular pastime.


End file.
